


Udobure Week Prompts

by DorkPatroller (Lilmissprine)



Category: Fire Emblem: If | Fire Emblem: Fates, Fire Emblem: Kakusei | Fire Emblem: Awakening
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Ship Week, a lil angst, mostly fluff tho, udobure
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-29
Updated: 2016-09-28
Packaged: 2018-08-18 11:14:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 13,683
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8160169
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lilmissprine/pseuds/DorkPatroller
Summary: a collection of prompts from Udobure Week! :)





	1. Reunion

Part 1: _Reunion_

Odin Dark was sitting on the side of the bed in Niles’ chambers. Niles sat beside him, his attention turned to anything at all but his companion. Odin had a firm grip on Niles’ arm, turning it slowly so he could admire the not-so-shallow cut. He turned his eyes away from it then, tilted them up to look at Niles’ face. A second later he felt the other man’s stare on him. He sighed. “I’ve seen worse.”

“Mm.” Niles was ultimately more reserved than Odin expected him to be. If it was anyone else he would have guessed it was because he was in pain, but… Odin had been through war with this man and he knew that one little cut was hardly enough to silence him. Neither of them were exactly known for being quiet.

Odin wasn’t sure if he should pry. He’d never really seen Niles look so… well there was very little to compare it to. He was injured (and Odin had no idea why) but he didn’t look like he was suffering through pain. He looked… like something else. Something familiar, although Odin couldn’t put his finger on it. Maybe he looked like someone with a stomach ache. Closed off and distant, and yet… he wasn’t so distant that he hadn’t asked Odin to come tend to the wound.

A ridiculous request at that, because there was a half dozen people in that castle alone who were more proficient at healing than Odin could claim to be. That wasn’t to say he was remotely inexperienced, of course. The dearest people in his life were versed in staves, after all. He just knew that Elise could mend that skin in the blink of an eye, and it would take Odin much longer.

“How did you—?” He began, but his words were cut off. Niles shifted his gaze away from Odin’s eyes and back down to his own arm. It was bleeding, but not nearly as badly as it once was.

“I heard a very interesting rumor about you.” He said. He dodged right past Odin’s question. If he was trying to distract the mage he succeeded, because Odin’s brows knitted together in confusion.

“I should hope it was about my awe-inspiring feats.”

“For once, it was.” Niles shifted so he could cross one of his legs over the other, and he continued. “I’ve heard you have a certain talent for using magic without a catalyst. Namely this magic.”

Odin frowned down at Niles’ arm. Sure. That was a fair rumor because it was a talent he was practicing. Namely on Selena and Laslow—people he trusted to keep it to themselves. Healing without a stave was a gift not very many people had, but a gift that was also generally passed through the exalted bloodline in history. Thus far he had little success. He could slow bleeding and ease some discomfort, but he couldn’t mend skin together without a rod or stave to help him. Even then he was still an inadequate healer compared to just about everyone—Niles himself was more proficient than he was. His grip loosened on Niles’ arm and he shook his head. “You asked me to heal you.”

“And you did.” Niles all but cooed the words, and he stood up from his bed. He walked to a dresser drawer and pulled it out, and when he made his way back he had a roll of bandages in his hand. “You stopped the bleeding without so much as looking at a heal staff. That’s an impressive party trick.”

Odin took the bandages from Niles and chewed on the inside of his cheek. Niles extended his arm and he began to wrap it. “Anyone else could close that wound.” He didn’t wait around for Niles to change his mind, though. He had clearly made his decision already considering he had brought the bandages to Odin to begin to wrap him up. Odin revisited his earlier question. “How did you come by that injury?”

“Jakob and I don’t necessarily see eye to eye.”

The corner of Odin’s mouth pulled into a smile. “Ah, so you were spying on Lord Corrin again.”

“I think I prefer the term ‘people-watching’.”

“ _I_ think the moon may run out of time to sing his love to the stars.” Odin murmured. Niles closed his mouth and swallowed back whatever comeback he had considered making. Instead he focused on Odin. Odin turned his gaze down to the wrapping motion of the bandages and tried to keep up a poetic front, but… his voice easily dropped an octave and became abstemious. “He’ll be leaving for Valla for good, soon, you know. There’s no telling if you’ll ever see him again—and certainly no telling if, when you do, he’ll have waited for you.”

Niles hummed softly. “That sounds awfully specific. Am I to believe that _Odin Dark_ has experience in this field? Color me surprised.”

Odin made a quiet snort of a laugh because he supposed that was fair. No one in Nohr took him seriously—and he hadn’t built lifelong ties with them that allowed them to see past his acts. Still… if he could provide insight on anything at all, he thought it was this. He’d been thinking about it quite a bit lately.

“Really though,” Niles added. Odin looked into his eyes again. “You’ve been here in Nohr for five years. I’ve never heard a peep about your romantic _endeavors_. I know you’re leaving soon.” Odin pressed his lips into a tight line. No one was supposed to know they were leaving soon. They wanted to disappear as mysteriously as they had appeared in the first place. How did Niles always know _everything_? “Is there someone you’re planning to leave behind?”

Not at all. Odin thought it was interesting that Niles would have guessed he was leaving someone behind now—the answer was just the opposite. He _had_ left someone behind. “Not exactly.” He shifted just slightly when he tied off the bandages, and tucked the end beneath the wrapping. Niles took his arm back and flexed his hand a time or two.

“Oh? So then you’re going home to someone. Ah—and you don’t know if they waited for you the way you waited for them. I see now.”

“You’re too nosy for your own good Niles. This is about you, not me.”

“I’m flattered, of course,” Niles’ mouth turned up into a smirk. “But far more interested in hearing who on the gods’ green earth won the heart of _Odin Dark_. So go on then. If you tell me a story I may consider taking your advice to heart.”

Part of him thought it would be best to get up and leave the room. He’d wrapped the injury. There was no reason to share this with Niles beyond humoring him. That said… It had been a while since anyone had given him the opportunity to talk about this. Usually he worried about other things, the how and the when. Rarely the who.

He exhaled a slow sigh, and tried not to notice when Niles raised a brow at him. “His name is Brady.”

“Ooh? Tell me all about him.”

“Ha! A tale that would take years to tell in full, because our lives were hardly sugar coated. …But I can tell you how it ended.” Odin said he could tell him, but then his words caught in his throat. He wasn’t sure if he could say it, after all. He certainly couldn’t say everything. “He told me he loved me a few months before I left for Nohr. I couldn’t bring him with me.” He couldn’t have. It was too dangerous, and only three of them had been having visions of the man they soon found out was Anankos. Only three of them could go.

“You’re a character, you know that?” Niles asked. Odin pushed himself to his feet. Of course he knew he was a character, that was all he had ever been. A piece of self-written drama.

“If you let him go back to Valla without you, there’s no promise he’ll wait for you to show up again Niles.” When Odin left home he had no idea how long he would be gone but he promised Brady to come back alive. When they said goodbye Brady cried, but Odin could still vividly remember him trying to hold in those tears as fiercely as ever. He could remember his voice saying he’d kill Odin—Owain—himself if he didn’t come back alive.

That was, as Niles had said, five years ago. He’d never guessed they would have been gone for so long. He had no idea how the flow of time worked between worlds. The deeprealms only served to give him anxiety on the subject. He had no way of knowing if Brady had waited five years, or if time hadn’t passed there at all, or if time passed much faster and his once-lover had grown old and died without him.

That was _probably_ the worst case scenario. The best case scenario was that very little time had passed at all, probably. The less time Brady had to wait the more likely he was to have stayed faithful and believed Odin would return, right? If time passed the same he supposed that was also ideal, but five years was a long time to wait for someone who may be dead, he thought. If five years had passed and Brady had waited for him… Odin was sure he would love to get to know him all over again. Brady having grown old and died was certainly the worst option, but a close second was five years having passed and Brady _not_ waiting.

He wouldn’t have the heart to blame Brady, he thought. Odin had put him in an unfair situation to begin with, after all. He never said when he was coming back, he never said where or how. He just promised he would… and Brady’s parents had broken those promises to him once in his life already.

Odin supposed no matter what, he would find out soon. He was going to keep his promise to return, whether or not Brady waited. He put his hand on the door to exit but Niles’ voice reminded him that he hadn’t even said goodbye.

“Odin.”

He tilted his head in Niles’ direction, and saw him staring at him with an all too familiar stance. Arms crossed, sultry smile, half narrowed eye. “Maybe I’ll tell him.”

His lips curled up into a little smile. He was glad his story didn’t fall on deaf ears. Whether or not Niles knew much about it, he must have been able to tell that Odin regretted parting ways. It was hard to say he regretted it when he knew that he had played a key role in saving this world (and he truly cherished Nohr, it was amazing in its own right). Sometimes he thought he did anyway. “Good.”

“And Odin,” Niles added, “One last thing before I never see you again. You’re a goddamn weirdo, but you’re one of the good ones. If he didn’t wait for you then he didn’t deserve you to start with. Now get the hell out before someone sees you in here and thinks we’re friends.”

・。・゜★・。・。☆・゜・。・゜。・。・゜★・。・。☆ ・。・゜★・。・。☆・゜・。・゜。・。・゜★・。・。☆

Maybe he was stalling because he was scared. Horrified, really, because all of his anxiety had led him here. He knew he couldn’t stall for very much longer. Severa and Inigo had already parted ways with him. It was strange for their circle to be broken up after so long together, but… well they wanted to go home. They would see each other again soon enough, Owain was sure. Severa left in the direction of her childhood home. Inigo made a beeline for the castle.

(No doubt because he wanted to see his sister and mother and father, and while Owain couldn’t _blame_ his cousin for wanting to see his family again, it really had created a time crunch for Owain. The moment Lissa found out Inigo was home she would ask about Owain and seek him out… and as much as Owain was beyond thrilled to see his mother again, he knew he needed to go find Brady first.)  

Something just felt wrong though. The house where Brady lived felt different than when he left. So different that he was anxious about it, so different that he was hesitant. He understood why when he took a breath and knocked on the door. The door creaked open at the contact and the building was dark and empty and void of anything but a stray, broken chair and some dusty cobwebs.

Owain walked into the home and crossed his arms around himself. The floor creaked under him and he wondered if this was karma. Maybe he shouldn’t have dared to hope for the best, after all? Clearly Brady wasn’t living there anymore. Not just Brady, there was no sign of Maribelle or his father, either. No sign of their dainty furniture or the lingering smell of tea in the sitting room. Just dust bunnies.

The floor creaked again and it took him an extra second to realize it wasn’t from his own weight shifting. “Owain.” Owain’s eyes grew a little wider. It had been really too long since anyone had called him that. Maybe he’d forgotten the way his own name sounded, which was a laugh because he certainly was one for announcing himself… but he had been Odin for so long.

It had been especially too long since he heard _that voice_ say his name, though. It wasn’t like when they first arrived in Nohr and Laslow slipped up once or twice (with Selena screeching at them about getting caught right behind him). It was more important. Owain had been living a lie for five years in Nohr but that voice was the voice of a man who never knew him as Odin. It was a voice that he had missed so dearly. A voice that he hated to admit he had forgotten the sound of, while they were apart, but it was ultimately unforgettable when he heard it again.

Brady had changed in five years. Not dramatically. Not unexpectedly. His robes had changed in style just slightly, but not particularly in color. Just a little shorter—Owain could see the slacks he wore underneath. The top was more of a cowl than a collar. His hair was styled as it always had been, still bright and blonde and gelled just so. He may have been just a bit taller, or maybe he just wasn’t slumping over as much as he usually did. He certainly looked surprised, after all. His face was the most different. The same, of course, easily recognized. Owain would never have forgotten his face, not when he saw it in his dreams. It was just a hint thinner (was that possible?) where he’d lost any remaining traces of baby fat from his teenage years. His jaw was just a little more defined, his cheekbones a little more distinct. The scar over his eye was still there as it always had been (or had been so long as Owain could clearly remember), and if it had lightened with the years Owain certainly couldn’t tell with the few steps of distance between them.

Brady looked different but so much the same, too. The same way his brows always knitted together in concern as they were now. The way Brady was looking at Owain must have been something akin to the way Owain was looking at _him_. He wondered if he had changed nearly as much in five years. It was hard to notice changes on oneself, after all.

He didn’t know what he was supposed to do. He knew it was selfish to assume Brady had waited for him and he knew it was unfair to assume he didn’t, and so for a split second he considered just asking but… a wave of _everything_ caught up with him and he didn’t particularly care anymore what Brady had done. He was right there. _Right there_.

His legs moved before his brain. His brain really didn’t catch up until he’d already wrapped his arms tight around Brady, pulled him down to his height so he could hide his face in his neck and breathe him in (He still smelled like herbal tea and salve, and maybe it was Owain’s favorite smell in the world). He loved him so much, after all, and even if Brady hadn’t waited for him he certainly had waited for _Brady_. He deserved the chance to hold him and to love him and to just pretend for a moment nothing had changed.

For a half a second he wondered if it was a dream. Brady laid his cheek against the side of Owain’s head and he felt a damp spot where his hair was collecting tears, and honestly he thought he’d even missed it when Brady cried. He’d missed everything about him.

That embrace certainly _began_ with Owain rushing to hug Brady, but it ended with Brady sobbing into Owain’s hair and the newly-brunette prince trailing his fingertips up and down Brady’s back to try and comfort him. Slow circles through the fabric, his fingertips knotting into Brady’s shoulder blade in a way that was ultimately familiar. Eventually the sobs melted into stray hiccups, but honestly Owain wouldn’t have minded if Brady cried for hours so long as he would let him hold him while he did.

Finally, “What the hell’re ya even wearing?” Brady croaked. Owain felt his lips curl into a smile, and he let out a watery laugh. It gave away that he’d been crying too, but he didn’t think Brady would have had it in him to suggest it was breaking character for once. Five years was a very long time. Five years deserved a good cry.

“Long story.” He felt Brady shift to step back, but he didn’t want to let him go. He was scared to let him go, scared that he would step away and say things weren’t the way they used to be, not anymore. It was sort of obvious he wasn’t ready to part in the way that Owain slid his hands down his arms, and kept a grip on his hands. No ring. Owain felt stupid for checking, he supposed, but when he brushed his fingertips past Brady’s undressed finger he did it anyway. Brady didn’t pull any further away from him and Owain didn’t let him, for fear he may just disappear if he did. “You moved.”

“Ma an’ pop got a nicer place closer to the castle so she could ‘socialize’.” Brady explained. His voice sounded like snot, like he had cried himself silly. His eyes were rimmed red with those tears, but he didn’t look nearly as stunned anymore. “And I…”

“You..?” Owain felt Brady’s hands flex in his grasp. He wondered if it was alright to hold his hands like this. He wondered if Brady was hurting. Was he bitter about being left behind? Did he really understand? Did he know what Owain had been through—did he even care? But Owain tried anyway, shifted their hands slowly, and cautiously, until their fingers were woven together. He glanced at Brady only to see the taller of them staring down at their joined hands, looking at the way their fingers were knotted together, and he nervously licked over his lips before he cleared his throat.

“Went ahead and got my own place just in case…” Brady’s hands tightened just a little around Owain’s, and as they did Owain’s heart clenched in his chest. Butterflies, maybe. Butterflies because his once-lover (ex-lover? Just lover in general?) was touching his hands like that. Owain brushed his thumb over Brady’s knuckles.

“In case..?”

Brady’s cheeks flushed. Owain watched him shift through sorrow and humiliation and then land on frustration. “Why do ya have to make me say it? I got my own place in case ya still wanted me when ya got back, ya jack weed.”

In case he still wanted Brady. He said that like he thought there was a chance he didn’t. As if he would have wanted someone else. Had he expected Owain to fall in love with someone else, come back married with children? Had he thought Owain may really have left him forever?

“Well go on, out with it!” Brady said it like he was confident but Owain could tell looking at him that he wasn’t. He could tell looking at him that Brady was just as afraid as he was. “Do ya?”

Want him. Did he still want him? It was an actual question; Brady was seriously asking him. It was a _great_ question. It meant he was offering, didn’t it? If he was offering that meant that he waited. A giant swell of relief bubbled up inside of Owain. Brady had waited for him, too.

Brady was already sort of hunched but Owain stood up on the platforms of his feet and that pushed him high enough to close the distance between their mouths in what he _meant_ to be an innocent kiss, but he would have been lying if he said it didn’t turn into something much more intense. He ended up with his arms wrapped secure around Brady’s shoulders, with his hand groping for purchase at the fabric of his robes. He ended up with Brady’s hand on the back of his head and his tongue in his mouth, and when he broke off that kiss it was entirely because he wanted to say it out loud. “Yes, I do.”

Kissing him had been different. Not like the shy or exploratory kisses of their teenage years, that was the kiss of a man who had waited for his lover to return and an idiot who left him behind in the first place finally making things right. That was the kiss of two people who never should have parted, and it couldn’t end that quickly. Owain leaned forward and left two more short kisses against his lips and one on the corner of his mouth just for good measure. _Never again_ , he thought to himself. _I’m never letting him out of my sight again._

Owain knew his time with Brady would be limited that day. There was no doubt that his mother was already looking for him. He didn’t want that moment to end, though. While relatively wordless, it was very certain and calm. All of his fears were for nothing. He left behind that old empty house with Brady’s hand woven tightly in his own, and he half guided them towards the castle to greet the rest of his family. Brady’s eyes were still shining with his earlier tears when he found it in him to smile at Owain and asked “I’m still waitin’ for yer story about why yer wearing a bikini.”

“These are traditional and sacred robes!”

“If that’s a robe I’m a pink unicorn.”

“I’ve never seen a unicorn so magnificent as you.”

In that moment Owain heard a noise so precious and so beautiful that he actually thought his heart stopped. For the first time in five years, for the first time in far too long… He heard Brady _laugh_.


	2. Date

Part 2: _Date_

It was remarkably easy for Brady to fall in love with Owain again. There were some challenges, of course. The day that Owain came home to him was the best day of his life in years, absolutely without a doubt, but he had changed. He wasn’t the exact same person. He left Brady as an eighteen-year-old with a radiant smile and a sword on his hip, but when he came back he was twenty three and spoke like he knew tomes better than Brady ever had (and maybe he did? Brady hadn’t ever been that interested in them, even if he _could_ use them).

Owain came back and his eyes were different. They had seen things that Brady knew he would never see, himself, and he was glad. Owain carried a burden with him in that regard. He faced death too many times for it to be fair, he had seen too much loss. He had seen children go to war with their parents, and he spoke of some cases where they didn’t all survive. He spoke of families torn apart by an insane evil, and of bonds that were perhaps impossible to repair.

He was very different, but… once he was dressed in clothes not too different from what he once wore in his youth—once he was in boots and a scabbard hung off of his waist—he looked more like himself. When Brady looked at him sometimes it was hard not to see the teenager who used to sneak into Brady’s tent to chase away his nightmares. Sometimes it was hard to think he was different.

They were both different. It wasn’t fair to imply Owain was the only one who changed. Brady knew that in five years he had grown a little more mature. In spite of his reservations about hurting anything, he had taken up learning spells so that he could defend himself if need be. He focused less on healing and more on music, and he gave lessons to children who wanted to learn to play.

Owain was a prince and his people were glad to have him back, but he hardly did anything all to princely. He spent most of his time telling stories and bringing smiles to faces. Some people may have thought that was a waste of his time, that he should focus on more noble pursuits but… Brady loved him for it. He loved that they were doing what they always dreamed of—he loved that they were using their talents to bring happiness to people instead of risking their necks to protect them. (He especially loved it when Inigo danced along to the music he played, but the other prince of Ylisse was often more preoccupied with flirting with the lovely ladies to make up for his time away from them.)

The first nights after Owain returned home he stayed at the castle with his mother and father. Brady knew it was selfish to want him to himself, but he felt that way anyway. He had waited five years for Owain to come home to him, and he felt like he shouldn’t have to part ways so soon.

Luckily it only took about a week before Owain managed to slip away from his family and knock on the door to Brady’s home. It was a little place. A cottage not necessarily in the hustle and bustle of the town. There were woods surrounding it and a little path that led to Ylisstol if it was followed for about twenty minutes on foot. There was a well to the side of it for fresh water and a little vegetable garden in the back, with a fence to keep out the critters (although Brady could hardly blame the critters for being hungry).

The cottage had only two bedrooms, both modestly sized, but a big sitting room with a fireplace and a window that had a seat in it (not too unlike the one at the castle, where he and Owain often sat as children and looked out over the gardens while their mothers had tea) and a kitchen with big cabinets and windows that let in the sunlight. It wasn’t most peoples’ idea of a perfect place but Brady like it. It was peaceful and he could hear the birds chirping in the mornings and could go outside and watch the stars at night.

Brady had been living alone for a long time, he’d almost forgotten how nice it was to sleep with someone else. Although the war they went through together had never been comfortable to any extent, the nights shared as scared teenagers with Owain wrapped snuggly around his back as an added layer of warmth in the biting cold was a memory he cherished. Now, as adults in a bed, in a house that Brady hoped they would one-day share (he was sure most people would expect him to join Owain in the castle but… he thought Owain would trade a castle for a cottage in the woods in a heartbeat) it was different.

As adults sharing a warm bed in a house kept heated by a wood-burning stove and layers of blankets Brady wasn’t afraid. He didn’t expect Risen to jump out at them and Owain didn’t sleep with his sword tucked beneath the cot. As adults Owain’s arms around him wasn’t to keep him from freezing to death or having nightmares. It was just comfortable. It was because Owain liked to sleep with his cheek pressed against Brady’s shoulder, and Brady loved to sleep with Owain’s arms curled up like he was hugging him. He liked to watch Owain shake out his arms in the morning when they went numb.

As adults it seemed strange that Owain came to spend nights but always went back to the castle the next day, because that was home. Maybe that was why Brady took matters into his own hands.

There had only been one other time he could remember being impatient and just doing something himself. When they were fighting for their lives he could remember watching Owain stare at him with parted lips. He could remember watching the then-myrmidon look away with a blush when he got caught. Brady could remember getting sick of it, and he could remember grabbing Owain accidentally-too-hard by the arm and pulling him aside to tell him he loved him.

That was before he went to Nohr.

Owain did everything else first, though. Owain was the one who introduced him to little bits of affection like holding hands or the way he would slide his hand up his back and grip his shoulder when he came to stand beside Brady. Owain kissed him first, and then he taught Brady how to kiss.

Not just how to physically kiss someone. They learned that together, like the teenagers they were. Owain taught Brady _when_ to kiss. He was twice as affectionate as Brady had ever expected him to be, in that regard. He kissed to express love when sometimes dramatic words weren’t enough. He pulled his hand to his lips and kissed Brady’s knuckles when he promised it was okay to cry. He leaned close and kissed his cheek when he was running off for training in the early mornings before. Now he kissed his cheek goodbye when he went home to the castle. When they sat in the window seat and watched the snow fall together, watched a little doe and her fawn leave prints in the fresh powder and drank warm tea he leaned his head on Brady and kissed his shoulder.

Owain taught Brady how to love, but Brady thought that even with a five-year absence he had mastered the art of loving someone, because he couldn’t fathom that he could love Owain any more than he did. And so he was growing impatient, again… because as the seasons turned and a half a year passed since his return, Brady grew increasingly more uncomfortable with the goodbye kisses.

He didn’t want them anymore.

“Brady?”

“Wha?” He looked up at Owain and realized he had been lost in thought for too long. Owain’s concern was clear on his face, even if Brady was distracted by the way his breath puffed up in front of him in the cold. He wrapped his hand tighter around Owain’s and tugged gently, guiding him to follow him just a little further. “S-sorry. Almost there.”

“I would follow you to the ends of the earth if you asked, but I wonder where you might _actually_ be taking us.” Owain seemed maybe a hair concerned. Probably because he didn’t know those woods. In their future they were burnt to the ground and left as nothing but a pile of ash. In this world he had never had the chance to explore them. Brady, on the other hand, knew his way around easily. Even with the sky darkening and the fireflies coming out to mingle with the feather light snowflakes drifting down to earth, Brady was sure he could get home easily enough.

The frosted grass crunched under his feet but when they reached the clearing he let go of Owain’s hand and gestured to it. Untouched by nearly anything at all, there was a small clearing in the trees and a brook that moved too quickly to freeze, and grew snowdrop flowers near it. In the center of the clearing there was a basket. It wasn’t a very fancy basket really. Brady had been too shy to ask his mother for a nice picnic basket. Just a basket covered in a thin cloth.

Owain’s confusion melted into realization, and steam clouded the air when he laughed. “Ha! Is this a date?”

“Kinda.” Brady nodded his head. The basket didn’t have a giant meal in it of course, he knew better than to leave food alone in the woods long. Animals would come find it. It just had a wool blanket that they spread out on top of the snowy grass and a bottle of wine (nothing very special, just a red wine that Brady could afford easily enough) and glasses. The wine was chilled by the cool air and the blanket let them lay under the stars without actually having to lay on the frosted ground.

For a while it was just that simple. A little wine, a little stargazing. Owain taught him some constellations that he had learned while he was in Norh, told him that the stars there were the same, but the stories all different. The sky grew dark and the wind grew colder as a result. The stars were bright and so were the fireflies, but Brady couldn’t bring himself to suggest they leave right away. Instead he just moved closer, let the heat that naturally came off of them keep them warm. Owain kissed his frozen ear with not-so-warm lips.

 _Impatience_.

Brady was impatient but he wanted to love every kiss Owain gave him. He wanted to love the kisses on his cheek as much as he loved the rest. He wanted… to say goodbye less often. He was impatient but he was also frozen. Figuratively and literally.  He wanted to tell Owain what he had to say, but he was worried he was rushing. When he told Owain he loved him years and years before it had been easy because they were at risk of death. Now they weren’t. There was no impending doom forcing him to act quickly and bravely. Well—unless they froze to death while he did nothing.

Owain had his hand wrapped up around Brady’s, but his right was in the air and pointing out legends of heroes in the twinkling stars. While he did that Brady slipped his unoccupied hand into his pocket and turned over the ring a few times. Slender and smooth on the inside, with just one stone embedded on the outside. It was a ring suited to a swordsman, a ring that wouldn’t get in the way of a blade but would still… get the point across.

The prospect of asking was what had him nervous but he thought at this point Owain’s fingers would fall off from the cold and he’d never be _able_ to wear it if he waited any longer. So he drew the strength to pull it out of his pocket (at least it had been kept just a little warm there, near his skin) and untangled their hands. Owain didn’t seem concerned by that, kept telling his story. It wasn’t until Brady pushed the ring onto his finger wordlessly that Owain trailed off, and lowered his arm from the sky.

Owain pushed himself up onto his elbows to look at the ring on his finger. He turned his hand over and back, and again. He clenched his fist a few times, growing used to the feeling, to the weight on his hand. Then he turned his striking eyes to Brady, and his lips parted just so. Waiting.

Brady didn’t know what to say on the subject. He cleared his throat and looked away from Owain’s eyes, looked back down at the ring on his finger. It fit just perfect. A gold band that was as sunshine as his hair and an emerald that brought out his eyes, and it was made for that hand. He looked back at Owain’s face and a wide smile and grown where confusion once sat. Brady’s cheeks were already flushed from the snow, but if he were capable of blushing maybe he would have. “Don’t make me say it. I ain’t… got anything poetic for ya. I jus’… want ya to stay.”

Owain shifted to sit up entirely, and when he did he pulled Brady into a sitting position too. He crawled forward and straddled his lap. His fingertips were ice cubes on Brady’s neck. He leaned forward and their mouths met and even that was colder than usual, but there was a new fire in it too. A bright burning blue fire that was built less on heat and more on excitement and passion and the way Owain was smiling wide against Brady’s lips. Owain leaned forward into it just a hair too far and Brady had to quickly prop himself up with one of his hands so they didn’t fall over… but he found the confidence to slip his other hand up to overlay with Owain’s… and he liked the feeling of the ring underneath his palm.

Their lips were cold but stuck together for a split second when they parted. Brady was panting—maybe Owain was too but he covered it up by breathing gentle words. “I don’t have anything poetic for you today either.” He admitted softly.  The side of Owain that no one else saw was the side Brady thought he was most familiar with. Sure, Owain still spoke in loud and dramatic voices even with Brady, but now and the he was soft and quiet like this, and Brady thought he only did that when he was truly very serious about something. When he wanted it to be perfectly clear. That’s why he spoke like that then. “I’ll write a poem about my love for you every day of our lives if it meant I could spend my life with you, though. We’ll stay together forever—just like we used to talk about. Just you and me, if you’ll marry me.”

Brady felt his eyes water but he didn’t know if it was from humiliation or happiness. He shoved Owain gently, but not so hard he fell out of his lap. “Whatterya doin’ stealing my proposal like that? I’m the moron who wanted to marry ya first—I got the ring! Ya can’t just ask _me_! I’m askin’ you!”

Owain’s laugh was a little too loud but they were alone in the woods and it hardly mattered. “You said you didn’t want to say it! A proposal so legendary as ours couldn’t be left entirely silent—Two heroes will be united today!”

“Heroes nothing. You stole my thunder, you ass.” Brady shifted just slightly. He lifted his hand up and laid his hand over Owain’s cheek. The brunette grinned at him, but leaned into the touch like it was second nature. Brady used that as leverage to lean forward and kiss him again, a tiny peck compared to what they shared before. “Yes, I’ll marry ya. And I’ll let you show me more stars later. It’s gettin’ too cold.”

Owain nodded his head then, seemed to understand that they needed to leave. He stood up and offered his hand for Brady, and when Brady was on his feet too Owain pulled his hand to his lips and kissed him there, as well. “You’ll need a ring too. Something magnificent! But for now… let’s go home.”

Brady supposed part of him was happy that Owain wanted to buy him a ring and make everything more official. That was a nice thought. Even better was the last bit of that sentence. His impatience had paid off. Soon—very soon—Brady’s house would be their house. That would be home.


	3. Celebration

Part 3: _Celebration_

Owain chanced a glance across the way and saw Brady. He was on the back of a horse-led wagon. Maribelle had driven it there earlier. She had a large vessel of fresh water and a wooden ladle, and she was offering people the ladle to drink from. Brady was picking up a stack of folded blankets, and he stepped off the cart and began passing them to newly homeless townsfolk.

This town was not far from the capital. There was no good reason why it had been ravaged by bandits. He couldn’t imagine anyone there did anything to warrant having their village razed. It was a farming village. The crops, the barns, the houses… everything was gone. The relief efforts were being organized by Olivia. Of course, never the sort to let their mother go alone, Inigo and Lucina quickly agreed to accompany her. Lissa and Owain also went to lend aid. The ground was still smoldering when they arrived, and in some places it still was. Owain hadn’t seen chaos like this since his time in Nohr, but he was glad to see there were no casualties, save some livestock.

Brady and Maribelle had only just arrived, they’d made a detour to get plenty of medicine and water and blankets. The air was crisp and cool, like biting into an apple. It was early spring. Brady had his sleeves rolled up to his elbows though, and he’d undone the cowl on his robes somewhat to loosen it. He was hot, making all those trips back and forth from people, up and down the wagon. Owain knew the feeling—he and his cousin had been working on building a shelter all day. They’d given up on shirts hours ago. Brady had on too many layers.

“Hey now,” Inigo spoke up and Owain turned away from Brady to glance at him. He was reaching down to pick up another slat of wood. They were nearly done with the wall they were working on. Owain had never been good at this sort of thing. Building houses was hard work. Not because it was physical labor—Owain could do that. Mostly just because it was boring. Still… he knew what needed done. He was still a prince, he knew his place was showing the people of the Halidom that they could rely on their royal family to help them in their times of need. (He was pretty sure he and Inigo got the short end of the helping stick, though.) “If you’ll remember my mother said flirting in all forms was off limits, today.”

Owain reached out and helped him push the wood into place. The way they had cut the slats, they clicked together like a puzzle almost. It was how many cottages used to be built, before they had access to iron nails. Now it was just the method they knew to be fastest. It fell into place, but it took some struggling from the both of them to fit just right. “What…” Owain grunted out a sigh when the slat finally fit, and he stepped back from it. “Are you talking about?”

“Well it’s no fair for you to make goo goo eyes at lover boy over there if I’m not allowed to look at any of the lovely ladies.”

“Ha!” Owain laughed. He really did, but then he helped Inigo lift another slat into place. Almost done with that wall—then they would have to cake the outside of it with mud. “Are you suggesting I not look at my husband? That seems cruel.”

“Oh no—a stray glance to check on him is fine.” Inigo chuckled, but it came out strained. Both of them jumped back in shock as the slat clicked into place right away, and the wall was set. He stepped away and pushed a hand through his blue hair—it wasn’t as well styled as usual today. He’d been sweating too much. “I am suggesting you avoid drooling, if possible. Although now that I think about it…” He crossed his arms and leaned against the wall they had just erected. “Isn’t today..?”

Owain nodded his head and he reached for a small bucket sitting on the ground. His plan was to take it to the well. The water there had been flooded with ash and cinder and probably even some blood—that was why Maribelle brought the tubs of fresh water with her. The water he needed wouldn’t be for drinking anyway. A good dump or two of water would probably be plenty to make mud to coat the walls of the shelter.

Inigo reached out and took the bucket, though, and he pulled it close to himself. “I’ll get the mud ready. I changed my mind. You ogle your husband some more.”

Owain thought Inigo was crazy but he didn’t mind the opportunity to take a short break. By the time he turned around and looked again Maribelle had walked away from the wagon to join Lissa and help start preparing a large pot (Owain thought it was practically a cauldron) of stew to go around. Brady had taken up her previous job, but seeing the last walls go up on the shelter had encouraged most people to go help mud it.

That was just fine with Owain. He approached the wagon and leaned against the side of it heavily. He was tired. Brady glanced over his shoulder at him and Owain watched his thin lips draw into a smile. He leaned down to fill the ladle with water and passed it to Owain, and he took it carefully to his lips.

“Yer lookin’ a little tired.” Brady spoke fondly, not really like he was worried. Probably because it wasn’t like their childhoods. This was safe. Owain nodded his head and handed back the empty ladle, and Brady set it aside. “Is buildin’ a house too hard for ya? Yer sword hand ain’t cut out for this?”

“Ever observant as always.” Owain pushed his hand through his hair to clear away some of the sweat. Brady’s smile twisted into something of a snort and he stepped away just long enough to pick up a rag. Owain closed his eyes just before it met his forehead.

“Ya got dirt all over ya.”

“There’s no reason to clean it.” Owain muttered, and he was sure Brady drug the rag over his face just to bother him at that point. He was about to go get covered in mud anyway. He reached up and grabbed for Brady’s wrist, and pulled him down closer. Their lips brushed, and Brady’s eyes jolted to his left.  To Maribelle, no doubt, to see if she saw it. It was sort of silly, how he was still shy to let his mother see him kiss his own husband. Owain tugged just a hair harder and Brady’s lips fell into his.

Brady braced his hand against Owain’s chest and tried to push himself back, but Owain tugged him forward more until Brady nearly fell out of the wagon. Their kiss had since ended, Brady was trying to escape, and Owain chuckled against his mouth. “Let go! Ma’s gonna slap me!”

“How can she? It’s unjust to assume you won’t kiss your own husband on the anniversary of the day you were wed.”

Brady hesitated and Owain shifted to help him step off the wagon. (If he hadn’t he thought Brady would have fallen on his face—gravity had been very against him in the whole endeavor.)

“I didn’t think ya remembered, what with the chaos.”

Owain shook his head no. He brought one of Brady’s hands to his lips and smiled softly against his knuckles, before he then kissed them. “I’ve thought of nothing else all day.”

“Ain’t the most romantic way to spend our first anniversary.” Brady admitted. “But it feels good ta help everyone out.”

Owain knew that was true. He supposed he could admit that it was a little bittersweet. He would have liked to spend the morning draping lazy kisses over Brady’s lips. He would have liked to take him out for tea and spend the day on a date. He opened his mouth to say as much, but an impact and a splat against the back of his neck made him gasp and turn over his shoulder.

Inigo grinned at him and wiped his hands against the pants he wore, tucked into his boots. Owain grinned. “Dare you start a war with Owain Dark?” He shouted in response to the mud thrown at him. Inigo shrugged and walked back towards the shelter.

Owain started to turn to walk back. They had work to do, after all. Brady caught his shoulder, and with something of a start he turned back to face him. In a heartbeat Brady’s hands were on either side of Owain’s face, and he pulled him upward by his cheeks to plant a hard kiss on his mouth. It wasn’t short by any means. Owain hated to admit that even his mighty knees buckled under the electricity that flooded between their lips. Brady pulled away and Owain hesitated.

“Happy anniversary.” Brady muttered. “Hurry up and finish that house. I got plans for ya.”

Owain found new motivation through those words. The way they slid off of Brady’s tongue with a hint of a promise of something amazing later… it was almost his favorite part of their anniversary.

…His favorite part was the sound of Maribelle lecturing her son for indecent displays of affection.


	4. Family

Part 4: _Family_

Brady had been wary about this from day one. He supposed he’d known from the gate that one day Owain would want to pass down his bloodline. He spoke of his lineage with so much pride. He had endless respect for his family, for his history. _The blood of the Exalt. The blood of heroes who gave their lives to protect him._ Needless to say Brady understood the unwavering love Owain had—would always have—for his parents. He loved his family too.

It didn’t come out of the blue, to be fair. They’d sort of talked about it a few times before it became real, long talks that kept them up late in the night and filled Brady’s stomach with both butterflies and knots and the idea that he had no idea what he really wanted… but once it became real it became _very real_.

Cynthia had been one of Owain’s best friend’s his whole life, she easily accepted the hefty request. Brady knew and loved Cynthia as well, so it was ultimately the best choice, but time felt like it was moving without Brady when the arrangements were made. It happened so fast, the plans were laid out and… He would have thought time and reason had passed him by entirely if not for the constant question from Owain.

 

_Are you alright with this?_

Yes, he always said. He said it like he was brave, like he wasn’t horrified of it. Owain was eccentric but he had more than enough love to give a child. He was strong both physically and mentally and it was easy for Brady to imagine him hoisting a child upon his shoulders. But as the months turned and the time grew closer and closer…

 

He was terrified. _Owain_ was going to be a great parent, but… would he? He wasn’t strong by any sense of the word. He didn’t have a way with words or answers for all of life’s questions. He wasn’t sure if he could do it. He wasn’t sure if was too nervous or too emotional or too scary looking.

He was sure he _wanted it_. He wanted to be a father, but he always tripped over the realization that maybe he wasn’t cut out for it. And maybe… maybe part of him was jealous. Maybe part of him wondered if the child would really be his at all… knowing that he didn’t share a biological connection to it. Would he still feel like he was its father? What if he never developed a connection? What if he didn’t love it?

 

But in the earliest days of autumn it happened, and he had no time left to be afraid.

 

He didn’t know why Owain insisted that Brady hold her first. Honestly, Brady was still reeling over the whole event. The day before their lives were as normal as ever, but now everything was different. The baby was born—she was a girl. Owain’s daughter was born. He was still trying to fool himself into thinking this baby could belong to him, too. He thought he would have preferred if Owain held her first, for a while. But he didn’t.

 

Brady wasn’t at all prepared for this. He swayed on his feet when Owain laid the babe in his arms without letting him argue (and maybe that was for the best). Brady wasn’t even sure how he was supposed to hold her. She felt like an awkward weight in his arms. But then he shifted them so her head was supported by the crook of his elbow, and he made sure to wrap the swaddling cloths around her to keep her warm, and suddenly everything changed.

 

She looked so much like Owain. The way her little nose was turned up just slightly, the tint of her eyes. She had the same chestnut hair. She was very certainly Owain’s daughter, but… that was obvious from the start. There had never been a question about that. She _was_ Owain’s daughter.

 

…but she was also his. He had been so scared he wouldn’t connect with her, that he wouldn’t feel like her father because how could he? That washed away in a warm wave of understanding. This wasn’t his husband’s daughter; this was _their daughter_. Theirs to protect, and to love, and to raise… and he loved her so much. Like a fire that grew from just a spark, his heart swelled with love for her.

 

She was so fragile. So small. He thought she weighed less than the healing staves he carried around. Her body was small enough to wrap up in such a small cloth, her features all so tiny… but she was strong and healthy—he could tell. She needed them to love her, to protect her… and no amount of previous fears could have prevented Brady from protecting her now. He would have done anything for this girl, he would have…

 

Well he had only just met her, but he understood entirely now why his parents gave up so much to keep him safe. He would have done the same—would do the same if it ever came down to it. But he wasn’t worried about a dangerous world because she would not live in one. She would live in peace. He was only worried about the feeling in his chest, the clenching feeling that told him this was important. This was a forever moment. He would remember her tiny scrunched up baby face _forever_.

 

Of course, he cried. It hadn’t come as a surprise by any means, he had to blink away some tears so he could see her precious face more clearly. He felt Owain’s hand clasp around his shoulder, squeeze it reassuringly. “She’s so little.” He croaked out the words but he realized that did little to explain what he was feeling. He tried again. “I love ‘er.”

 

Owain seemed to survey him for a moment, but he chuckled and said “Well you’re her papa, right? I would expect nothing less.” Brady’s shoulders hunched (and maybe his knees were weak) and he sobbed harder, and Owain must have been worried he’d done something wrong because he looked worried for a second there. “…Brady..?”

 

He shook his head side to side in what he hoped was reassurance that he was alright. “I-I’m 'er papa.” He repeated through the sob, and Owain’s worry melted into a calm smile again. A few of Brady’s tears fell down onto her little pink baby cheeks, and she started to whimper in protest to  it. He wasn’t sure what made him bounce his arms just a little, slow and gentle. Maybe it was instinct? Was he allowed to have those same parental instincts? She whined, but started to calm down sure enough.

 

A glance at Owain and there was something on his face Brady hadn’t thought he’d ever seen quite so distinctly before. It was definitely some form of pride. A really bright, glowing pride. A pride that caused a pathetic, watery laugh to bubble up from Brady’s throat. “What are ya lookin’ at? My ugly mug? You ought to be cryin’ too. What are ya gonna do with two crybabies?”

 

“Cherish them.”

 

Brady hesitated, his little laugh long faded and his tears stunted by the candid comment. He focused on Owain, on his beautiful eyes he shared with their daughter, and then he grinned a crooked grin at him. “Yer about to cry too, aren’t ya?”

 

“Am not!” Owain stepped behind Brady and hugged him around his back, where it wouldn’t disturb the little baby girl. He felt Owain rest his cheek against him between his shoulders, and then Owain added in a little hush, “Maybe I’m just feeling a little _sentimental?”_

The day Ophelia was born Brady had been terrified… but it turned out to be the very best day of his life.


	5. Hurt

Part 5: _Hurt_

Owain was obviously aware of the growing bandit problem in Ylisse. It was the effect of a new Exalt coming into power. With Lucina’s coronation came an onslaught of groups of ne’er-do-wells attempting to ‘test’ her. They wanted to see how far the new Exalt could be pushed before she pushed back. Although he chose to live his life outside of the castle walls, Owain was still a part of the royal family. He was still involved in the efforts to control the problem, before it got out of hand.

That was why he wasn’t home in the first place, that day.

He had spent the better part of his morning seated at a table in his childhood home, going over methods of dealing with the small rebellions. He supposed it made some sense. Why should Lucina take the title of Exalt now? Her father was fully capable. The reason she chose to was, of course, so she could better protect her family and friends. Chrom was more than proud of her. But Owain understood why people were wary. This girl from the future wasn’t exactly _their_ Princess Lucina. Their princess was still only just nearing her tenth year.

Backlash came in a few forms. Mostly in the form of burnt villages or crops. Nothing that couldn’t be controlled and handled. Each time it happened the whole royal family (and often times their spouses as well) came together to rebuild the town. Owain knew that the reputation of being good hearted and kind rulers this brought was actually doing them good… but he wished there was less destruction involved.

Owain had never expected backlash to come in _this_ form.

At first when he saw her he didn’t have a shred of worry in his mind. She was his princess, running towards him from a distance. He didn’t know why she had come to see him—he supposed that they needed to run an errand in town. He had expected to see Brady walking up that hill behind her. But he wasn’t, and even worse when the three-year-old girl drew closer she was obviously in distress.

Owain dropped down to his knees to catch her and she ran into his arms. He slid his hand over the back of her head and smoothed down some of her hair, but he was concerned how the ends of it were just a little bit singed. She had soot on her face, too, and when she held out her hands for him to see they were scraped up where she had clearly fallen down and skinned them, as well as her knees. “Wh..?”

“Father!” Ophelia cried. And she really cried—she didn’t just shout. Her eyes ran over with big tears and fear that ran deeper than things that went bump in the night and sent her running to sleep in her parent’s bed.

Owain wrapped his hands around her small hands and tried to look like he wasn’t scared. What had happened? Where was Brady? He glanced up at the trees behind her and for the first time noticed something that made his stomach sink. A pillar of black smoke. “Oh, no…”

Ophelia whimpered and looked over her shoulder. “B-Big men came and… P-Papa is still… We have to go help him!”

“Not you.” Owain tore his eyes away from the fire. Memories of his past had made him lose his focus on trying to be calm and collected for his daughter. It wasn’t fair to expect him to have a comforting look on his face when his home could very well be burning to the ground, when his husband could be gone already. It wasn’t fair to Ophelia to have had to run to safety all on her own, and it certainly wasn’t fair that Owain was making her run farther. “Go to the castle. Find your grandmothers and aunt Luci and tell them what happened.”

…

The closer to the forest Owain got the worse the smoke was. It was hard to see through but it was by some sort of miracle that the whole woods hadn’t caught on fire. So far, that was, only the trees immediately surrounding their home. And the house itself, that was. Owain knew from the direction Ophelia came that she took the shortcut out of the woods, that she took the unmarked path. He took that path as well, to do his best to retrace her steps in hopes he would find Brady. Fortunately, that plan worked, but… unfortunately he wasn’t in any good shape.

The ends of his robes were a little singed, just like Ophelia’s hair had been, but it didn’t look like he’d been in that burning house too long. That wasn’t what made it clear that he was in danger. The danger came from the fact that he was obviously in a heap on the ground with his face in the dirt. His fingertips were still resting meekly on a tome, but unmoving. Midway up his waist and just below his ribs was his injury. Based on the size and location Owain could only guess it was inflicted with an axe, a long wound that glistened with red.

The men who Ophelia spoke of were gone, it seemed, and Owain wasted no time in dropping to the ground beside Brady and pushing him over onto his back. When he did Brady grunted, and squeezed his eyes shut tighter, and Owain said a little prayer of thanks that he wasn’t dead. Of course, upon flipping him over he realized that the wound on his side was far deeper than he’d originally thought… because the ground had sopped up most of the blood and Brady was twice a pale as he normally was. “D-Dammit that hurts…”

Without missing a heart beat the moment Brady was situated in his arms Owain reached out with the hand that wasn’t supporting his shoulders and clapped it down hard over the wound. Brady hissed but the pressure was important, and Owain had to think. “You need to be healed.”

Brady was in no condition to heal himself by any means. He’d lost too much blood to likely even see straight. Carrying him was a risk. If he did he could get Brady to Lissa or to Maribelle but… would he make it that far, for that long? It would take him at least fifteen minutes, maybe longer.

“D-Did Ophie..?”

“She’s safe. What _happened_?”

“They wanted ‘er.” Brady answered quietly. “Came in yellin’ bout takin’ the princess. They smoked us out and I tried… I sent…”

Owain didn’t really need an explanation for what Brady did. It was obvious in the sense that Owain would have done the very same thing. He put his life in the way of his daughter’s to ensure she got to safety. Owain chewed his lip and white light swirled around his fingertips and around Brady’s waist.

Alive. All he needed was for Brady to stay alive until Maribelle or Lissa could heal him. All he needed was to stop the bleeding and ease the pain of that wound. “You’ll be named a hero twice over for saving a princess of Ylisse… but please, Brady… don’t leave.”

To suffer the same fate that their parents had was unfair. This wasn’t an apocalypse this was minor rebellions. Ophelia deserved to have both of her parents but, Owain thought, _especially Brady_. He was good and compassionate and loved without restraint. He didn’t want their daughter to see her father’s grave. Not yet, not today.

“Whatter… what are ya d-doin?”

Sometimes Owain healed Ophelia’s minor bumps and bruises. Paper cuts and scrapes. They melted away under his touch, and she called him incredible for doing it without a staff. Niles had once called it a party trick, and Owain supposed that’s all it really was. He still wasn’t suited to healing. Not the way Brady needed healed.

And he felt like an idiot for keeping it from his husband all those years. He should have shown Brady his ability and perhaps he would have been able to teach him or help him to master it. Brady couldn’t heal without a catalyst but he was probably the most gifted healer in the Halidom. Owain looked down and watched Brady’s eyes droop. Be it from blood loss or relief from some of the pain, Owain still worried. “Stay with us.” He pleaded again, before Brady finally fainted.

…

“Father!” Ophelia ran to Owain that afternoon and he thought she looked sweet. Her hair was trimmed a few inches shorter. Severa had done it for her, to get all of the singed parts cut out. It was beautiful on her, he thought. “You brought them! We must hurry! Grandmother says Papa is awake!”

Flowers. He’d gone to get them to clear his head that morning, when Brady still hadn’t come out of his sleep. Lissa and Maribelle were certain he would be awake any time… his wound had been grave but he was going to be just fine. Owain passed the flowers down to his daughter, and she admired them before taking his hand and leading the way through the castle walls to the room Brady was in. (As if Owain hadn’t been there the entire night, while his daughter slept, whispering prayers and kisses into Brady’s hand while he watched the rise and fall of his chest.)

It was brighter to see him awake though. Owain pushed the door open for Ophelia and she ran inside and clambered up the side of the bed. Brady’s eyes landed directly on Owain first. Silent electricity passed between them… before Ophelia’s weight made the bed shift, made Brady wince, and he looked at her instead. His wince disappeared into a smile for her.

Brady always said he wasn’t strong or brave but Owain knew that to be a lie. Brady was the bravest man in the world when it came to their daughter. He had run through fire and struck down foes to keep her safe, and even with a still-healing wound he was able to put on a smile and thank his daughter for the beautiful flowers.

Owain joined them on the bed. Ophelia was (thankfully) positioned on the opposite side as the wound. She laid down with her papa and snuggled up against him, and Owain took a seat on his other side. He was careful not to shift the bed nearly as much, and when he offered Brady a smile he got a look of concern in exchange.

“Ma said ya saved me.”

“As any great hero would.”

“Yeah, but with healin’ magic? I didn’t know ya knew how.” Ophelia curled under the blankets with Brady, and he dropped his arm down to comb through her shorter hair. “I guess I ain’t mad, since ya managed to save the day, but… Is there anything you _can’t_ do?”

Oh of course. Owain couldn’t do many things. He couldn’t fly, he couldn’t tame a Pegasus (although he had certainly tried once or twice), he couldn’t eat with chopsticks in his time spent in Hoshido. He couldn’t speak a foreign language and he honestly couldn’t use most tomes anymore. Most importantly though, while he looked at his husband (and certainly admired that the color had returned to his face), he realized he couldn’t do one thing even a little. He leaned close and pressed a kiss to Brady’s temple.

“I can’t live without you.”


	6. Intimacy

Part 6: _Intimacy_

Brady supposed he shouldn’t have let himself get lost in those feelings in the first place, but it was really Owain’s moan that brought him back to earth. The haze of heat and pressure and _pleasure_ that had been clouding his vision lifted just enough for his (normal?) pessimistic thoughts to come crashing back down on him. “Nn—‘wain.”

Owain shifted over him. His weight moved to one side, he leaned down and put his lips on the spot where Brady’s neck sloped down and met his shoulder. The skin there was already aggravated from earlier, but Owain drew feather light kisses along it and Brady’s sentence died in his throat.

He slid his fingers almost lazily until they were met with Owain’s hair. He brushed his thumb through the messy brown spikes and nearly forgot again. It was easy to forget what he was concerned about, when Owain was being this… persuasive. His hand drifted down to Owain’s cheek, he used it to redirect his kisses. Owain easily made the transition, moving his mouth to Brady’s with fervor. He rocked his hips slowly in time with those kisses, a gentle lull compared to their earlier rhythm. He slid a hand down to Brady’s thigh and pushed back against his knee, and Brady became aware of another noise: his _own_ moans.

_Shit._

It wasn’t really fair to scold Owain for being loud if he was going to be himself. It wasn’t really fair to scold him in general. It had been… a little too long. After his injury had fully healed they were faced with the fact that their house was ruined. Their little cottage with the window seat and the fireplace and all of the books that Ophelia loved to ask them to read to her had burnt to the ground. He had been surprised to find that while he was bedridden most of the day, Owain and his cousins had been busy at work. It turned out that their relief efforts for their people had been far from in vain. Upon finding out that the youngest princess of Ylisse had been targeted, and her home destroyed, all of Ylisstol came together.

Brady cried when Ophelia led him home the first time. Where he expected to see ruin he saw the same home he’d come to love, nearly exactly the same—though clean and new. Men and women came together to build it, to paint it, to lay the bricks of the hearth. There were some things that couldn’t be replaced, sentimental things like the books that were gone forever… but it was amazing to Brady how many people had tried. Food, blankets, some people had already planted new seedlings in their garden. Ophelia was thrilled to bits when some of the people gifted her with their favorite books, and she clung to every word when they told her why they loved it and what it was about.

A new house was a blessing. It… didn’t fix everything. Although the men who started the fire were captured shortly after, it didn’t change the fact that Ophelia had witnessed something horrifying. It didn’t change anything. It had been weeks and every night she still insisted on sleeping in their bed, nestled between them. She was afraid of the men coming back. How could they blame her? She was so young, and she’d nearly witnessed her father’s death.

This was the first night. The very first night that she didn’t come into their room. The very first night that Owain could press Brady back into the sheets, the very first night that Brady could cross his ankles behind his shoulders, the very first night that they could be _intimate_.

…And they were being too loud. He rarely worried about it in the past but… call it intuition. Ophelia had been so nervous lately, so afraid. She held his hand tighter, cuddled closer to him. She was scared of losing her parents. He was afraid of her ever suffering that fate.

But a particularly well timed roll of Owain’s hips and Brady forgot that he was worried. He forgot everything, he kissed him hard, he lifted his hips when he arched his back and…

 _Knock, knock, knock_.

…and he bit Owain’s lip in frustration. “Stop.” In spite of the disappointment that came with having to leave this unfinished, a tiny smile formed at the corners of his mouth when Owain whined in frustration. They had been too loud. He supposed it didn’t matter, it was alright. They had the rest of their lives to catch up on this… they only had a few short years before Ophelia was a young woman who didn’t need to cuddle her parents anymore.

“Papa..? Father..? May I come in?”

Brady felt Owain shift to kiss his temple, before he stood up from their bed to find their discarded clothes. He supposed, in the very least, no one could say they hadn’t tried.


	7. Future

Part 7: _Future_

Owain was quite familiar with his husband’s tears. Brady often acted embarrassed to cry, but it never bothered Owain. After three wars, he was relieved to see someone who would cry over the drop of a hat. He’d seen too many people with cold faces.

Usually there was a reason behind the tears. That was why he was a little thrown off when, that particular afternoon, Brady insisted there was not one. Usually Owain held him until he felt better and talked through it, but that evening… Brady didn’t seem to want to talk about it.

He didn’t want to talk about it when Owain asked him around noon. Owain left for some time to go visit with his mother and pick up some produce from the market, and when he came back… Well Brady wasn’t crying, but he wasn’t himself. And he still didn’t want to talk about it.

There they were, the evening passing into night. Brady was sitting by the window reading something, and Owain brought him a hot teacup and took an uninvited seat beside him. “What happened?” He tried for the hundredth time. Brady looked at him with red rimmed eyes and shook his head, but he took the cup.

“It’s really nothin’.” He murmured.

“Even the smallest of somethings is more than nothing, Brady.” Owain argued gently. Brady glanced away and sighed. Owain watched carefully as he opened his mouth and closed it, and he knew it was something he was struggling to talk about. He hummed. “You can do it.”

“Shaddup.” Brady rolled his eyes. “Just… Ophie is getting big.” He shrugged and pulled a blanket around his shoulders. “Ya know she’s spendin’ the night with yer cousin.”

Owain held in the joke he wanted to make about how _obviously_ she was spending the night at the castle, because she wasn’t with them. He thought Brady had more to say. He even held in the correction. While Inigo was fun to spend time with, he was sure that Ophelia was spending most of her time with her second cousin, Soleil. They were very close friends.

“I asked ‘er if she wanted me to walk her up into town. Usually when we walk she makes up some kind of story ‘bout me and her savin’ people. Ya know—like you do.”

“Well she learned from the best.” Owain smiled at his husband, and Brady smiled something strained in return. “What happened on the walk?”

“Nothin’. She didn’t want me to go with her.” Brady muttered, and he sighed into his tea more than he blew over it. “She said I would embarrass her.”

 _Oh_.

“She’s too big! She don’t need us anymore!” Brady argued. He didn’t even drink the tea, just set it aside like it was the least important thing in the world and not his favorite blend.

“Brady…”

“I ain’t ready for her to grow up!”

“She’s _five_.” Owain reached out and put his hand on Brady’s shoulder, and he waited until his husband looked at him to continue. “If anything she’s likely just repeating something Soleil said. There’s nothing more embarrassing than being Inigo’s wingman. I’m sure she suffers.” A joke of course. Inigo was a flirt but he was a good father, and Owain knew that he was taking great care of Ophelia, too.

The joke didn’t get much of a smile out of Brady. “She’s never said that before.”

Owain was silent for a few minutes. Brady shifted and leaned his head against him, tipped it to rest on top of Owain’s, and he sighed while he looked out the window and into the empty woods. Owain… supposed he didn’t know what to say. He couldn’t very well disagree. Ophelia was going to grow up, that was what children did. Maybe, he wondered, that was why Brady had chosen not to talk about it. He probably already knew.

Ophelia wasn’t growing up the way they did. Her parents were both alive and well. She wasn’t going to grow up missing them constantly. There was certainly going to come a day when she thought her parents were embarrassing and when she wanted to be independent, but…

“She’s five.” He repeated softly. Brady nodded but didn’t lift his head.

“I know.” He murmured. “We’ve still got time. It just… I didn’t expect it.” Owain sighed and opened his mouth again but he still didn’t know what to say on the subject.

 _Knock, Knock, Knock_.

The knock came from the front door but the owner didn’t wait for an answer before he pushed open the door. The voice was familiar before the face, and Owain’s lips pulled into a bemused smile when Inigo called “Hello, hello. Are you decent?”

Brady shifted away from Owain, and he dipped his head to the side in some confusion. “Whatterya doin here? I thought the lot of ya were having a sleep over?”

“Ah, yes, well,” Inigo began, and he pushed gently on Ophelia’s back. She let him guide her inside, but she looked more bashful than usual. Soleil bounced at her side, rocking on her heels. “We tried to get ready for bed, but Ophelia was having trouble sleeping. She insisted on coming to see you. Far be it from me to tell the little lady no.”

Ophelia took shy steps away from her cousin and approached her parents. Sure enough she stopped in front of Brady and lifted up her arms, and he pulled her up onto the window seat with him, between him and Owain. “Do ya have a stomach ache?”

“No…” She spoke softly. “I just… I wanted a goodnight hug.”

Owain honestly couldn’t help the smile that spread over his face. Brady’s face was an illegible mess of relief and love and inevitable tears and he swooped down and wrapped his arms tight around her. She nestled her head under his chin and snuggled into him the way she had for years and years, and Owain glanced at Inigo. He mouthed a quiet thank you to him, and his cousin shrugged his shoulders innocently.

Soleil ran forward and put her hand on Ophelia’s leg. “Are you going to sleep here tonight..?”

Ophelia looked concerned. It was a face that looked bad on her, but she locked eyes with Brady and asked him. “May I go back with Soleil and Uncle?”

Owain saw something akin to discomfort flash briefly on Brady’s face, but he smiled through it for her and nodded his head. She grinned and hugged him again, and she leaned up and kissed his cheek. Sure enough she then turned and hugged Owain, and he combed his fingers through her hair and kissed the side of her head. “Be good.”

Sure enough she was gone in a flash. The three of them were headed back to the castle, back to bed. Owain pushed the chain through the lock on the door when they left, and he glanced over his shoulder at Brady. “Your hugs are so special she led them on a journey through the woods at night just to earn one.” He hummed. “Still worried about her growing up too fast?”

“Yeah.” Brady admitted. “She’s still growin’ up too fast.” Owain watched him reach for his tea from earlier, and take a small sip. A smile came to his lips likely by instinct, and he sighed quietly. “But I guess there’s nothing we can do to stop the future from happening.”

“Lest we go back in time.”

“Very funny.” Brady rolled his eyes. “If she comes back to hug me now and then, I guess it’s okay if she grows up.”


End file.
